Things Have Changed
by jlybelly
Summary: When Christine realizes that Raoul can live on without her, she decides to let him. Soon, he makes it obvious how he really feels about her, but is he too late?
1. Not Like He Should

**A/N: This is my first **_**Phantom**_** fanfiction so please be at least a little kind in your reviews, but constructive criticism is appreciated. ****I do not own Christine, poor, unhappy Erik, the Persian, the first few paragraphs, or anything else that DOES belong to the magnificent M. Gaston Leroux, in fact, most of the storyline of this chapter belongs to him****. ****At the end, I'll mention some things that I may have meant to be the way that they are. If I mention them, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't. Thank you.

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The Scorpion and the Grasshopper sat in front of Christine. The words that finished the explanation of her choice echoed in her mind; _"Yes or no! If your answer is no, everybody will be dead and buried!"_ The words of Raoul's warning would echo after the choice each time; that if she didn't turn the Scorpion, as her love suggested, then the entire Opera would be blown to a million pieces. As these blasted words repeated in her mind, she realized the extent of what Raoul was saying. For his sake, as well as the Persian's, he wanted her to marry the monster. He was willing to live without her… he could go on without her… The tears welled involuntarily in her eyes. Erik, thankfully, was not there. Surely, though, he would be back soon, and she would be out of time. Oh, dear Lord, was there no comfort for her in this moment? Then the Persian asked her where she was, his voice sounded urgent. "By the Scorpion!" the poor girl cried out.

"Don't touch it!" he answered. Christine could almost hear the realization in his voice, there must have been some other horror attached to the Scorpion, something more horrendous than marriage to that… thing! Oh, why was the… THING not back yet? Perhaps she could plead with him, if only he would return!

Once more, the Persian called out, "Don't touch the Scorpion!" and Christine heard Erik returning to them.

"Here he comes!" she yelled. "I hear him! Here he is!"

The Persian tried to reason with the Phantom, but the Phantom only silenced him. Suddenly, the trap-door lover turned on Christine and began further explaining the situation, finishing with "If, in two minutes, mademoiselle, you have not turned the scorpion, I shall turn the grasshopper… and the grasshopper, I tell you, hops jolly high!" A quarter of Paris… not only the four people deep below the ground… not only those enjoying the Opera house… but a quarter of the people enjoying Paris… And, then, Erik interrupted Christine's thoughts; "The two minutes are past… Good-by, mademoiselle. …Hop, grasshopper!"

"_Erik_!" Chrstine nearly screamed at him, then caught herself and her voice quieted, "do you swear to me, monster, do you swear to me that the scorpion is the one to turn?"

"Yes," answered the Phantom, "to hop at our wedding."

"Ah, you see! You said, to hop!" Christine replied skeptically.

"At our wedding, ingenious child!… The scorpion opens the ball. …But that will do!… You won't have the scorpion? Then I turn the grasshopper!"

It was true, since Raoul was so fine with her marrying this Monster, that Christine had nothing left to live for. Except, perhaps… yes, of course! Even if she had learned the truth of him, he was still her Angel of Music, was he not? So, even in this moment of desperation, she still had something to live for, no?

"_Erik_!" she interrupted him again, but he yelled back.

"_Enough_!" The Phantom would hear nothing, and his hand was already on the Grasshopper, but Christine's hand outstretched and beat his in turning the figurine.

"Erik!" she shouted for what seemed the fortieth time, "I have turned the Scorpion!"

She could hear as the Persian stopped his screaming, and the silence seemed to take hours before… a hissing… of… water? Christine audibly sighed in relief.

Erik, however, would not rest until he was sure that Christine could not turn back. He grabbed her left wrist firmly, forcing the ring she had lost onto her finger. He grinned demonically at her and dragged her up to the surface, to a nearby chapel, where Christine did not hesitate in finishing the ceremony. The religious man looked curiously between the couple until the Phantom warned him in an eerily calm voice to "go on, already." Shortly thereafter, the wedding was done and over with, so Erik dragged her back down to the third cellar, to his home. The moment they returned, Christine ran to the torture room, horrified to find it filled to the brim with water, and Raoul and the Persian drowning inside. Her crystal blue eyes widened and she ran to her husband. Taking both of his hands in hers, she looked up at him with horror evident in her shaking body. "I swear it, my Angel, I swear I shall be yours forever, simply lower the water level! My Angel, please, they shan't live if you don't!"

Erik looked down at her, surprised that she had been so affectionate toward him. His hands… they dared to hold hers? Then, after a moment, the words registered within his mind, and his head tilted in confusion at her plea. "But, my love, what do their lives matter?"

"I cannot, in good conscience," she answered, little tears forming in her eyes, "allow gentlemen to die when I could have saved them. Please, my Angel, please!"

His golden eyes seemed to fill with regret as he walked over to the casket and turned the Scorpion, the water emptying from the Torture Chamber. Then, he walked over to the secret door, unlocked it, and dragged the two unconscious bodies from the damp chamber. Christine turned from them and left the room. How the Phantom healed the two poor men was not important to her. As she left, however, he left her with a few dark words; "Don't touch the boy!" Christine did not intend to touch the man who she felt had betrayed her. She did, however, allow him one glance. A quick, short look, filled with love, wonder, horror, and hatred. How he could live on without Christine, how he could allow her to marry another, that was what had pushed her emotions to where she thought they could never be. She began to feel disdain for the boy.

After a while, after Erik had taken the Persian back up to the surface, and Raoul was… elsewhere (Erik hadn't allowed her to know his exact location), the Phantom returned to Christine. The monster, who usually looked so intimidating and confident (unless, of course, he was groveling before her) looked childishly timid. The girl stood and looked at him, a small, sweet smile on her face. As he walked over to her, Christine put out her forehead just a tad. She held back a tiny laugh as his surprise spread over his face. Gently, ever so lightly, he placed his cold hands on her shoulders. She firmly held back a shudder at his touch, which only seemed to make him more emotional. Hesitantly, he moved his lips to her forehead. And Christine did not move. She did not pull back. She did not… die! The Phantom was moved to tears, and collapsed to his knees before his wife… his living wife. His lips kissed her dainty feet; his tears moistened her skirt hem. As her own tears drenched her cheeks, Christine knelt with the man. She held both of his hands in her own and cooed, "Poor, unhappy Erik."

The tears that seemed to rattle his entire body stopped immediately. The realization came to him quickly; he couldn't make her stay.

"Promise me," he breathed, then found a more audible voice. "Promise me that, when I've died, you'll come back… and bury me with my ring…"

"C-come back?" Christine asked, surprised. "W-why would I leave?"

"Because, my love, I'm letting you go," he removed his hands from hers and stood erect, then took a few steps back. "You don't love me. You think of me as nothing more than a dog… a dog ready to die for you. So... you can go. Marry the boy whenever you like... but please bring me back my ring once I'm dead. Your dearest love… he's in the Communists' Dungeon. Retrieve him, and leave me. I'll soon fall into a blissful, eternal slum-"

Christine had been shocked into silence, unable to interrupt him until then. "No! You are much more than a dog to me!" She stood and quickly closed the distance between them, caressing sweetly the edge of his mask. "You're my-my Angel of Music! Please, my Angel, do not fall into this so-called blissful, and eternal slumber! I…" her voice grew silent, almost hesitant before she finished, "I want to stay…"

Erik looked at Christine with more surprise than one could think possible to see on a masked face. He took both of her hands in his and brought them up to his lips, kissing both of them at once. Again, Christine didn't shudder, pull away, or die. "But… I don't understand," he replied, keeping his hands near his mouth, "why do you not want to return to the boy you so obviously love dearly?"

"Because… he doesn't love me like he should," she replied, sadly. "The man I love should not be able to live on without me while I marry another! So, there's nothing left for me except my Angel of Music." The Phantom smiled at her, as tears of uncontrollable joy flooded his eyes. "My Angel, though, could you return him to the surface? He needs to find someone he can love…"

Erik grimaced, but as his yellow eyes met her azure ones, he couldn't refuse her. He sighed and left to rescue the boy. He grabbed the boy and carried him over his back, going back through his home to prove to his living wife that he was, in fact, taking the boy back to the surface.

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A few days later, Christine was walking near the lake, humming Mozart quietly to herself, when she realized a letter by the door. At first, only one thought occurred to her; _'Who dropped off mail to the Phantom?__'_ But as she paid more attention to the curious envelope, she recognized the handwriting of the Comte de Chagny.

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**A/N: I know most of this chapter is straight from the book, but it's very important that this chapter be here, so you can understand how Erik and Christine got together, and how the rest of the events can be possible after M. Leroux's. Yes, I purposely changed a lot of it. Mostly, this chapter shows what I think Christine should have been thinking once Raoul told her to marry poor, unhappy Erik. That selfish, greasy-haired, bourgeois brat was just fine with his love marrying someone else? Oh, yes, he loves her **_**so**_** much. Please don't PM me to argue with this. We're all entitled to our own opinions, and if you don't like my thinking style then you don't have to keep reading :D Otherwise, if you intend to keep reading and you notice a discontinuity with the epilogue (primarily what happened to the characters other than Raoul, Christine, and Erik), please let me know. Thanks, and enjoy!  
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	2. The Rose

**A/N: I suppose this can't get any less-popular, right? Yes, it's true, I don't like Raoul that much. But we've not seen the last of him (primarily because we've barely seen the first of him). I'm having a hard time deciding if any of the other characters' destinies would be affected by Christine's choice… And I'm having a hard time deciding how long after this choice Mme. Giry died, and therefore if I can include her and for how long… Your opinion matters! Thank you in advance for any reviews!**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own none of the characters in this fanfiction. The plot, on the other hand (err, rather, specifics of the plot) is(/are) mine. If it is not mine, it is the magnificent M. Leroux's, and he deserves the true praise.  
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Christine's hand reached out to pick up the letter, and her mouth opened. She nearly called Erik's name before she thought better of it. Quickly, she snapped her lips together and opened the envelope.

It read:

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_My Dearest Christine,_

_I hope this letter gets to you, and I hope it finds you in good health. I can't imagine who would dare to deliver mail to that monster, and I can't imagine what that monster has done to my beautiful Christine. Nonetheless, I hope you have not lost faith in me. You will not have to endure his company for much longer. There must be another path for me to take. I will not allow you to remain the poor, unfortunate bride to that beast. Please, have patience, and soon I will come for you._

_In the torture chamber, when the Phantom was forcing you to make that fatal decision, it may have seemed I did not care whom you married. I can only hope you will forgive me for this. It is not that I can live on without you beside me, rather it is that I cannot allow you to die. Unfortunately, the only way for you to live, was for you to marry the Opera Ghost._

_Please, my dear, be patient. I shan't be long._

_With all the love in the world, _

_Comte Raoul de Chagny _

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Christine's heart ached the moment she read it. So, he did still love her! Instantly, she wanted to hear more from the boy. She wanted to see him again, to feel comforted by his embrace. Pressing the letter to her chest, she sighed with longing.

"Something the matter with Christine?" his voice came from behind her, and she screamed, for she didn't remember hearing his footsteps approach.

She swiftly stuffed the letter and envelope entirely into her bodice and turned around to face him. _'Surely' _she thought, _'Erik is more of a gentleman, than to try to retrieve it!' _She met his eyes and smiled a small, well-acted smile, "N-no! I'm.. fine, really." Her answer, however, was shaky. It made Erik curious as to why she was lying, and angry that she would lie to him.

"Is there perhaps something Christine wants? Her voice echoed desire when Erik found her," the Phantom said to her, his eyes narrowing.

She paused as a thought occurred to her; Erik couldn't be there when she wrote back to Raoul. "Yes!" she exclaimed, her smile becoming ecstatic, "I would love… some roses! Yes, my Angel, a single rose! As you love me, get for me a rose!"

A smile twitched across Erik's face at this. "Of course, Christine, I shall get for you a rose. Wait for me, as I will not be long!" And, as quickly as he had come, he was gone. Running off like a school boy to buy for his crush a flower.

As soon as she was sure he was out of earshot, Christine sighed in relief and scurried off to her room. She grabbed a sheet of paper and began writing hurriedly._

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My Dearest Raoul,_

_Erik has been very kind to me. It seems as long as I do not mention you, his temper remains in-check. Please, do hurry, though. I miss you, your voice, your embrace. Oh, dear Lord, I fear if I stay here for another day that I will succumb to the Angel's affections! He is so good to me, that I am not sure how to feel dislike for him again. My love, my fondness for him can only grow from here. Do not let me alone with him for much longer! I've found a way to get him out of the house for now, but he'll be back soon. I must go, now, for fear he will return too soon and he'll catch me. His temper surely will get the better of him._

_Yours always, _

_Christine Daaé_

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She sealed the envelope with the Phantom's wax and seal. (She didn't have her own. She hadn't even noticed until then.) Quickly, she stuck both letters under her mattress, until Erik returned and she felt it safe for her to put the letter on the other side of the lake. Her heart fluttered with giddy excitement at this secret affair. Her cheeks grew rosy as she remembered the content of Raoul's letter. Her gut dropped with guilt as she imagined Erik's reaction. And, like this, Christine stayed until Erik called out to her.

"Christine! Your rose!" he cried. In answer, Christine stood and went to her doorway. He was near the door to his own room, which confused Christine… had he not just crossed the lake? All the same, she walked over to him and inhaled the aroma of the rose while it was still in his hands. With a smile, she took it from his hands and turned around, smelling the single, red rose the entire time.

"Christine, if I may," he interrupted her apparent bliss, "why this sudden urge for a token of Erik's love?" His words seemed to reach out and grab her, holding her back. Needless to say, she was surprised by his query.

Christine was rendered speechless for a moment. Erik grew impatient with the silence and flew in front of her. "Don't get Erik wrong, my dear, he enjoys bestowing gifts upon you. He simply wishes to know why you want this," he said to her, anger only being hinted at in his tone.

Christine looked up at him with the most innocent face. While her face seemed able to act, her voice was far from having this ability. "Is it so bad for me to accept my fondness for my Angel?" she asked. Erik seemed to find this answer acceptable, for he smiled at her.

"Then Christine will love this!" he exclaimed, grabbing her hand (against his better judgment) and pulling her into his room. There, eleven more roses identical to Christine's first awaited them, in an intricate vase. Her jaw dropped as she examined the bouquet. Erik took on a bashful disposition, releasing her hand and looking down. "I was going to give them to you, one at a time, until you grew tired of them… You do like them, don't you?" The last question came almost as an afterthought, and very quickly. He seemed worried that she wouldn't.

"Oh, of course I do, Erik! They're lovely!" she exclaimed, joyously.

Once again, the Angel smiled. Then, he took her single rose, saying, "And this one goes here!" as he gently put it back in its proper spot.

As she beheld the roses, she unconsciously interlocked her own arm with Erik's, like a good wife. Erik's smile only grew more exuberant at this as he looked down at the little lady on his arm. Comfortably, they sat there for a while, just enjoying each other's company. Then, Christine remembered her letters, and her heart grew unsteady.

"Oh, Erik, play something for me, won't you?' she asked him. "Something as equally lovely as the roses!" Erik obliged, then turned and led her to the Organ. "Before we start, I'm going to take the roses to my room. I want to see them as I fall asleep. Go on, and start without me. I'll be able to hear it the entire time," she told him.

He hesitated, sighed, then obeyed, beginning a song that started off happy, but filled with longing as soon as Christine left the room with the flowers. Silently, she ran the vase to her room and set it on the small table next to her pillow. Then, quickly, she grabbed the envelopes from under her mattress and sprinted to the boat. It took her weak arms much longer than she expected to row to the other side of the lake. Carelessly, she threw the letter onto the shore and turned around, only getting half of the way back before Erik stormed out of his room, yelling her name.

"Erik! My Angel, I'm here!" she answered him.

"_Why are you in Erik's boat?_" he asked her, his voice teeming with agitation. "_Can you even _hear_ Erik's music all the way over there?_"

"Of course I can, my Angel!" she replied. "I hear your music everywhere! I simply wanted to enjoy the view of your home while I enjoyed the sound of your music!""_Come back this instant!_" he ordered. She immediately obeyed, her tired arms taking even longer to return her to Erik's shore. As soon as she did, however, the Phantom roughly grabbed her by her arm and pulled her out of the boat.

"Ow, Erik! You're hurting me!" she cried out, but his anger deafened him.

"If you want to take a ride in Erik's boat, you will ask Erik to take you," he said to her.

"Ow, okay, okay, I will!" she obliged. "I promise, I will! Why? Don't you trust me?" She immediately regretted asking that. It would only anger him.

Yet, he stopped and his eyes were soft as he looked at her. "No, my dear, that is not it. I simply don't want to lose you."

Christine sighed sadly and apologized for her carelessness. She almost regretted sending that letter to Raoul. Erik cared so deeply for her, how could she leave him?

"Come, my Angel," she said to him, "let me hear that song you were playing before I left your side. It sounded so pretty."

"No, Love," he answered, leaving her, "I cannot play that song any more today. Sleep, now, you look exhausted."

Emotionally, she was. How long could she keep up this façade? She was afraid to find out. The next week was awkward and silent between the two. Christine had not yet received another letter from Raoul and she worried she never would. Until, one day, when Erik was out to buy Christine a seal that she had requested for 'sentimentality,' she came across Raoul's second letter.

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**A/N: If you notice any anachronisms within my work, I would greatly appreciate it if you would inform me. I was surprised at how many people read my first chapter, but I had been hoping for more reviews. If you enjoy this, or would like to help me with my writing, leave a review. If you want to chat about it, PM me, but, please, no mindless babble against my thoughts.  
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	3. Starry Night

**A/N: While writing this, I don't even have Chapter 2 up yet… and I was reading three other books. So, if it seems that the writing style changes rapidly, that was when I paused my writing and read another book (that is, read "Black Bird" [a manga], "Code Geass" [another manga-though I've found it to not be as good], or "Geektastic" [a non-graphic-novel book that seems to be written about me]). I'll do my best to rid myself of these style changes while typing it, but I make no absolute promises…**

**Disclaimer: To my utter despair, I don't own these magnificent characters, but the plot and writing is mine. Well, at least, the specifics of the plot are mine. If you would like to praise a truly magnificent author, you may praise the original owner, M. Gaston Leroux. In case I haven't yet praised him enough, here's a few more adjectives I could use; awe-inspiring, fabulous, incredible, uniquely gifted, exceptional.  
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As soon as Christine picked up the letter, she heard the sound of the lake water moving. Erik's boat was on its way back to her, and, with it, Erik. She moaned quietly and stuffed the entire envelope down her bodice. Oh, what _would _she do if Raoul sent her a package?

"My love," Erik interrupted her thoughts (though his voice was far from loving), "what are you doing so close to the lake? You could fall in… and drown. It's best you stay put, in your room"-which was, no doubt, where the Phantom had begun to lead her-"so Erik can keep a watchful eye on you." _'Watchful eye, indeed,'_ thought Christine, _'this house is more like a prison than a home.'_ However, she dared not share her opinions on the matter. He had just begun talking to her again. And, though his company was not the best, it was better than the silence she had previously received.

"Come, my dear," he said to her, "I shall play for you Mozart while you tinker with your little trinket." With that, he sat Christine on her bed and handed her the intricate seal he had purchased for her. "Now, stay here like a good, obedient wife. Erik's door will be open so he can ensure Christine doesn't get hurt." In her mind, Christine knew that what he really meant was; "Do not try to run away, because I will _know_." Once the Phantom was sure she was going to remain obedient, he left her and went to play at his organ.

As the sound of Mozart filled the air, Christine took some time to actually appreciate the little seal. The handle was in the shape of an Angel. Surrounding the Angel were elegant rosebuds on slender stems. She smiled, then turned over the seal. On the presser, there was engraved a thin, almost-full circle. Yet, clearly, it was a "C" for Christine. No second initial. Only a small heart in the very center. How Erik had managed to obtain such a detailed piece in such a short amount of time was completely beyond her, but the Phantom always seemed able to keep her mystified like that.

It then occurred to Christine that, as of yet, she had not given anything to Her angel in return. This was because, Christine realized, that she _had _nothing to give him. Once more, she moaned. Mozart's "Piano Sonata 11, in A" consumed her attention. Quietly, she hummed along, but, she noticed, she was a tad sharp. When Christine tried to fix it, she became flat. A week and a half without singing, and she was already so off-key? At last, it became apparent to her! Did he not enjoy her voice? Giving her lessons? Of course he did!

"My Angel," she began when she reached Erik's room, "my voice is in need of some tuning. Won't you help me repair it?" In all honesty, she didn't exactly count on this working. However...

He seemed overjoyed with this suggestion, for his golden eyes lit up and he pulled Christine onto the bench beside him. The lesson lasted easily two hours longer than it needed to. By the end of it, Christine was resting her head affectionately on the shoulder of her husband. Her eyes were shut comfortably, and sometime during the music, she had taken Erik's arm. He smiled at her and then woke her from her thoughts, "Christine, my love, perhaps it is time you rested."

"Mmmngh," she answered sleepily, "can't I just rest here?" Clearly, she was not herself. With a content sigh, the Phantom stood and lifted his wife into his arms. Silently, without disturbing her slumber, he carried her to her bed and set her on the mattress, pulling the comforter up around her shoulders. He paused, staring at her pale complexion, her golden hair… he nearly kissed her forehead, but soon came to the realization that he was not worthy of her beauty, so he restrained himself. Instead, he went to his organ and played the notes that came to him, as they came to him. What flowed from the pipes was a soft, relaxing, yet clearly very happy melody. His fingers danced quietly across the keys.

The hours passed like minutes. So, by the time Christine was awake again, he didn't have any breakfast made for her. As soon as he heard her stirring, he made his way to the kitchen and began preparing her meal. Not long after, Christine was with him, looking curiously over his shoulder at the stove.

"Only one serving?" she asked, surprised at the small amount of eggs and toast before them.

"Yes, my dear, I told you: I don't want to cause you to lose your appetite," came the answer, but Christine would have none of it. In one swift motion, she removed his mask and pulled it behind her back. Obviously, the Phantom was furious. Yet as he opened his mouth to begin his lecture, Christine's finger gently pressed against his lips. It silenced him and seemed to cause his anger to dissipate.

"Shh," she cooed, "just wait a moment before losing your temper." Her own actions paused, too. The only sound that remained was that of the couple's deep, slow breathing. This stillness carried on for another minute or two, during which Erik and Christine kept their eyes locked. Then, finally, Christine broke the silence, saying lovingly, "I'm still hungry. Make yourself some breakfast, too, please." And so, with a quiet chuckle that he played off as a sigh, Erik did. Together they sat at the table, curiously watching one another eat.

After breakfast, Christine returned Erik's mask, asking him, "Was that so hard?" When a bashful "no" came, Christine smiled and reached up to kiss her husband's bare cheek. He smiled like he always did whenever she was affectionate. Then, his eyes lit up with some sort of wonderful excitement.

"My love, do you want to see something truly beautiful?" he asked. Smiling back at him, Christine led her back to her room and told her to "stay there" and something to the effect of "no peeking."

With a giggle at his enthusiasm, Christine suddenly remembered Raoul's letter. Quickly, she grabbed it from her dress and tore it open.

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_My dearest Christine,_

_I fear by the way you write that the monster has already begun to possess your better judgment. I will not be much longer, my love. All of the preparations are nearly made. Do not lose hope. And do not give into the beast's desires. I swear, if he lays one finger on you, on Mlle. Christine Daaé, on my fiançée, he will regret his disastrous life. Patience, my darling, have patience._

_You will not know when I come, and, hopefully, neither will the Phantom. So I urge you to stay on your guard for a time after receiving this. It shall take me only another week before I am ready to invade his lair and take you back for my own._

_Oh, it was so good to see your handwriting again, to hear from you. I await your next letter._

_Yours always, _

_Comte Raoul de Chagny_

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Christine's eyes grew wide. Suddenly, she felt as though she didn't want to be rescued. as if "rescuing" her would do more harm than good. Immediately, she wrote back to him.

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_M. le Comte,_

_My apologies, Monsieur, but you are mistaken, for I am not Mlle. Christine Daaé or your fiançèe. I am Mme. Christine, wife of Erik. Please, understand._

_Your words are quite comforting, but I'm afraid your aide is no longer needed. The place in my heart which once was yours now belongs to my husband. The affection which I once owed you I know owe him. Find for yourself a proper young lady. One whose heart does not already belong to another._

_Mme. Christine_

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She sealed the letter with the seal Erik had given her, hoping against hope that Raoul would understand this as their final good-by. Once more, she stuck the letters in her bodice. She tried not to think about how hurt her poor Raoul would be once he read her letter, once he saw how she had signed it, sealed it. Just then, Erik burst through her door.

"Come, my love, come see what Erik has prepared for you!" he exclaimed. His excitement seemed to blind him from seeing her worry, for he happily grabbed her arm and pulled her away from her desk. Once she was outside her room, he covered her eyes with his gloved hands. The Phantom continued to lead her, sometimes lifting her into his strong, gentle arms when he feared she'd be unable to make it on her own.

"All right," he whispered in her ear, at last, allowing her to see again, "you can look now."

Christine found herself shocked into speechlessness. Hundreds of thousands of little, individual lights-almost like stars-were before her. The Phantom's once dark, eternal night was suddenly bright and brilliant. Upon further examination, Christine realized the lights were actually small candles in methodically arranged candelabras, and that half of the candelabras were really simply reflections of the ones above them. She slowly came to understand she was on a ledge over-looking the Phantom's lake and house.

"Oh, Erik," she breathed, barely getting those simple syllables through her shock. "So… _lovely_." Her feet started making their way, one in front of the other.

"Chrstine!" Erik panicked when he realized his wife was continuing off the edge. Christine spun back to face her Angel, to find out what was wrong, but a rock slipped from under her. With a startled scream, she tumbled toward the glassy surface of the water. As she did, two envelopes fell from her bodice.

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**A/N: That's my girl, Christine! Atta way to lose the greasy-haired, bourgeois brat! Or… at least, that's what you think… No, we haven't heard the last of him, unfortunately. Okay, now, to explain my disliking for Raoul. It's not that I particularly dislike Webber's Raoul. He was actually pretty good (first time I saw the movie, I chose Raoul over the Phantom). It's just that I LOVE Erik! Particularly Webber's Phantom. I realized my adoration for the creature of the night while watching the magnificent M. Anthony Crivello play him in **_**Phantom**_** in Vegas, and I saw a side of Erik I didn't remember from my childhood. When we got home, I read the book and thus began my intense dislike for Raoul. I guess I realized what I liked about Raoul in the movie was that he was willing to die to make sure Christine was free, and in the book… well, he wasn't. I realize I'm changing that, now, but since then my adoration for Erik has grown enough to cause an epic disdain for Raoul. Okay, now that I've written down my explanation, you're free to go. Until, you know, Chapter 4.**


	4. A Note to the Managers

**A/N: I posted Chapter 2 earlier today. I don't really like Christine, but I hope I'm keeping her true to Leroux's original Christine. If not, then I hope I'm at least keeping her a constant character. You know, as constant as a girl can be. (FYI: I'm a girl. We're pretty indecisive.) Anyway, on to the story.**

**Disclaimer: It greatly depresses me each time I write this, but I don't own Christine, Erik, or any other character which is the wonderful invention of M. Gaston Leroux. The plot does, however, belong to me, even if it only barely belongs to me. In fact, so little belongs to me, that if you really want to praise this fanfiction, after you've posted a review, please praise the uniquely gifted M. Leroux. (Good luck with that one :D)  
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In the split second before Christine fell, Erik tried to pull her back. He tried to save her, to reach out and grab her, but she was already gone. Without any hesitation, he dove in after her, barely noticing the envelopes that were falling with them. She had already hit the water by the time the Phantom was halfway down the cliff. He broke through the water surface with a resounding crash, his golden eyes searching the darkness with ease. Sometimes, being a "ghost" was convenient. Soon, he found her pale outline, sinking quickly to the bottom of his lake. Gracefully, he swam to her, wrapped her up in his arms, and carried her to the shore. He coughed out a little of the water he himself had breathed in due to his complete and utter surprise, then gently lay her on the ground.

She was unconscious. Erik racked his mind, trying for the life of him to remember how to bring a drowned person back to life. It came to him! At last, he set to work, and-after a few desperate moments-Christine began spitting out water. She coughed and hacked and gasped for air. With a moan, she slowly fell back to sleep: drowning can take a lot out of a lady. It wasn't until then that Erik remembered the two, strange envelopes that had escaped his wife as she fell. With a speed that radiated anger, he turned round to check on the letters. He spotted them and stalked out into the shallow water, scooping them both up and examining them. One was open (though the broken seal was clearly the Comte's) and the other still shut (obviously sealed with the seal he had purchased for the ungrateful girl). Neither seemed to have been affected by any ink-smearing malfunctions. Christine would definitely have quite a bit to explain, once she woke up.

The Phantom returned to her with a sigh and lifted her into his arms. Angry with her or not, he couldn't let harm come to her, whether it was drowning or freezing. He carried her to her room and tucked her into her bed, then sat in a chair, waiting for her to come back to herself. But he grew impatient with waiting and began reading the letters. As he began to read the Comte's, his anger escaped his control. The way this arrogant little boy described him… it was unforgivable! He had no thought of reading Christine's letter, and instead roughly shook her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open, and she began sputtering questions. "Oh, Erik, where am I? What happened?" was repeated multiple times.

"Stop toying with me, you cheating Jezebel!" he roared at her, pulling her away from the warmth and comfort of her bed. He held her roughly by the wrist and shoved Raoul's letter in her face. "A letter to _his _dearest Christine, from _your_ Raoul!" he described it, as if she couldn't recognize it. "About how you, _his_ darling, must have patience while he makes preparations! After all, Mme. Christine _de Chagny_, he shall only be another week!" He misread her disbelieving stare, understanding it to be that she couldn't believe that it said that. "No? Very well, let's read it together," he insisted. A cold arm wrapped around her shoulders and clutched her uncomfortably close to his chest. His grip was harsh, and his skeletal fingers seemed to dig into the flesh of her shoulder.

"'_My _dearest _Christine,'_" he began, poison on his breath, "_'I fear by the way you write that the _monster _has already begun to possess your better judgment.'_ Oh, what's the matter? Don't want to hear it? Christine should have thought of that before she replied to it, yes?" He shook her own, un-sealed envelope before her face.

"Y-you haven't even read it! My Angel, please, try to understand!" she pleaded, affectionately caressing his shoulders. Yet, this didn't seem to affect him; he didn't even seem to notice.

"Why should Erik try to understand the claims of an unfaithful wife?" he demanded, but he opened the letter regardless. While he read the letter aloud, the hand holding her shoulder gradually loosened until he let go of her completely. Christine staggered backward, then tenderly rubbed her shoulder. Her eyes searched the skin, which she found covered with bruises. She looked back at Erik, but he no longer stood before her. Instead, he groveled at her feet, on his knees, begging for forgiveness.

"Oh, Christine, Christine," he murmured. Emotion held him back from being able to talk much louder than a whisper. "I apologize. Please, my dearest, forgive your poor husband. He knew not what he was saying. He loves you so deeply that he was taken with jealousy, but his anger was misplaced. Please, my love, accept my most humblest of apologies. I don't deserve your acceptance, your forgiveness… Yet, please, I beg of you, grant it to me still."

"Oh, Erik," sighed Christine as she knelt with her husband. Her gentle, loving hands lifted his face so she could see him. His pleas for forgiveness halted immediately when she did. "You have nothing to apologize for, and I have nothing to forgive you for. Listen to me, it was a mistake anyone could have made. Now, get up. Please." But he did not. Rather, he simply crouched forward again and shook with tears.

"Oh, Christine is so very understanding of Erik! She is so good to him, too good to him! Erik does not deserve her!" he insisted. "Nothing Erik can do will ever be worthy of Christine!"

"Now, you stop that!" Christine argued. "All the beautiful things you give me…. Why, you give me everything I ask for! You put my happiness before anything. Of course you deserve me! So, I'm begging you, stand up!" He met her concerned gaze, then nodded in agreement. He stood upright, then offered her his hand. She gladly took it, relying on him to help her up. He looked down awkwardly and bashfully.

"I'm sorry," he said, handing her the envelopes, "but you'll have to rewrite the letter to M. le Comte. Uhh... Are you feeling well? You took an awful fall and nearly drowned." They were still hand-in-hand; it seemed Christine hadn't noticed, but Erik certainly had. It made him nervous, but in a good way.

"So that's what happened!" she exclaimed, then realized something. "If I fell into the water, how is it neither letter is ruined? Shouldn't the ink be at least a little smeared?"

With a smile, the Phantom shook his head, answering, "I have Mme. Giry coat my incoming letters in my own invention which keeps the ink from thinning out. The ink in which you wrote your letters is also my own invention. I needed a simpler way of getting my notes across the lake."

Christine felt as though she should have thought of that. Yet, the girl knew she never whould have. Her own mind was nothing compared to Erik's genius. She became suddenly aware of the cold hand wrapped around her own and pulled hers back. A rosy blush colored her cheeks, and Erik smiled shyly at her. "I'll leave Christine to her writing, then," he muttered as he ducked out of her room.

She set her letter on her desk and began copying it. Before signing it, she added;

_Please, stay away. There's nothing you can do to change my mind. I don't want my mind to be changed, either._

As soon as her signature graced the bottom of the page and her seal held it shut, she sent the little envelope across the lake. A pair of yellow eyes watched her from where their master sat at his organ. They smiled when Christine left the lakeside, as they became worried she'd fall in again. She caught him admiring her and went to his side.

"Where were we with the last vocal lesson?" she asked as she sat next to him. Without answering her, he began her lesson. He didn't need to answer her, he just wanted to hear her sing. Her voice filled the chamber slowly, quietly at first. He began with more simple exercises, to ready her throat for the ensuing challenges. Eventually, he found her voice was ready for the song he had in mind. He began the melody and taught her the lyrics with his own voice. Her voice finally joined his, somewhat hesitantly growing to his volume. As they sang, their voices intertwined into a wondrous and interesting harmony.

The song deafened the two to the outside world, so they couldn't hear when there was a ring at the door. The ringer grew more vigorous in her attempts to catch their attention. The visitor normally could have appreciated their song, but she was too worried to do so at this time.

After a while, the music died down and Erik could hear the impatient ringing of his bell. He sighed, got up, requested that Christine wait patiently for him, and went to the entrance across the lake. So few people knew about his caverns that he knew who it was.

"Mme. Giry, you know better than to interrupt Erik when he is singing," he muttered darkly, "especially when he has a chance to sing with his wife."

"Yes, I know this, Erik," she answered, sighing. "But MM. Moncharmin and Richard have decided to sell your box. They insist that since it has been so long since they've heard from you, that you must no longer exist."

"Erik does not need his box when he has his Christine," the Phantom insisted, slightly exasperated.

"I'm sure you don't," she responded, "but that's another thing. They miss Mlle. Daaé-"

"If you'll please refer to Christine as her proper name, Mme. Giry," he interrupted, "she is no longer Mlle. Daaé. She prefers to go simply by Christine, or Mme. Christine."

"Have you really changed her so much?" she asked, then quickly changed the subject. "Regardless of this fact, they miss 'Mme. Christine.' They also insist that unless you prove that they are not simply paying a figment of my imagination, they'll stop paying your salary."

"Erik needs not his salary when he has…" he cut off, realizing something. _All the beautiful things you give me…_ the words explaining why Christine cared echoed in his mind. In order to give her these things, he needed his salary. In order to get his salary, he needed to find a way to prove his existence. He groaned in frustration

"These things are not as easy as they seem, are they, Erik?" Mme. Giry asked, then turned to leave.

"Wait!" he instructed. "A note should suffice, yes? Hmm... yes, yes, Erik shall write to the managers a note. A threatening note. Then they'll believe that Erik still haunts their halls. Even if the halls are not what Erik truly haunts." Mme. Giry waited slightly impatiently for the note Erik had promised her.

The Opera Ghost fled to his room and politely requested that Christine retire to her own room. She quietly obeyed, leaving him to write in his signature red ink. After half of an hour, he returned to Mme. Giry with his carefully written note. "If those fools do not respond to this, Erik will find a better way to catch their attention," he said deviously.

Mme. Giry nodded, slightly amused, and headed off to the Manager's Office. She slid the note under the door and walked off quietly, hoping Erik hadn't promised anything too ridiculous.

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**A/N: I just have a knack for ending each chapter right as a note/letter is sent or received (or, in one case, noticed), don't I? Regardless, I know, I was incredibly vague as to how Erik resuscitated Christine; that's mostly because I know I'm not knowledgeable in CPR, and I want this to be at least semi-realistic (all things considered). I hope you're enjoying this story! If so, please review! If you have any comments, reviews are appreciated. If you would like to chat, just PM me, but no "No, ur wrong! Its suppost to b lyke dis!" PMs, please. Only intelligent arguments if you really want to disagree with me. I still stand behind my thoughts that Raoul is a selfish, greasy-haired, bourgeois brat. Almost nothing you can say will change this idea.**


	5. Rehearsals Begin

**A/N: I'm having a lot of fun writing this, but I've been reading fluffy E/C phanphics lately, so if it gets fluffy, please, let me know. Like I said, I'm trying to keep the characters as close to the originals as possible (more or less, considering this is based on Christine having a slightly OOC moment at the very beginning). Also, the phanphictions I've been reading are based on the musical more than the book, so please let me know if my Erik gets less-Leroux-esque. I try not to let the things I read affect my writing, but I do want to know if it does.**

**For those who haven't noticed, I had my friend read through my phanphic last night and he offered a slightly different ending to Chapter 3; it doesn't change much, but I just thought I'd let you know. Also, if you've noticed, this story now with new and improved chapter titles!  
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**Disclaimer: No matter how many times I dream about owning this, these characters, I don't. I do, however, own the plot, and the farther we get away from Chapter 1, the more I own it. If it's not mine, it is M. Gaston Leroux's, and that remarkable author deserves your praise more than I do.**

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Just before the envelope was slid under the door, the managers had been discussing the replacement of Christine. Carlotta refused to return to the Opera, ghost-free (as the managers had been claiming) or not. As she had so kindly put it, she would not "risk that temperamental beast embarrassing her with another co-ack." Granted, when she had said it, there were a few extra words from her first language thrown about. They were not very kind. Regardless, without Christine, and since Carlotta was being her usual difficult self, they were just about out of solutions. Then, the fateful envelope joined the conversation.

MM. Moncharmin and Richard eyed the envelope skeptically. They had been free for nearly two weeks, and yet here was the Phantom, yet again. "Oh, for the love of the good Lord!" exclaimed M. Richard, as his colleague retrieved the note. "Please, do tell me, Monsieur, that the ink is not red." M. Moncharmin remained silent in response. The looks they exchanged were those of worry and anticipation. Richard finally signaled for Moncharmin to read on anyway.

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_Gentlemen,_

_I understand your faith in me has weakened. I assure you I am not gone, nor do I intend to leave. I know you understand, vaguely, how I receive my monthly salary. I will continue to accept my payment in this fashion, lest you prefer I fetch it _personally_. I do not suggest this system. It greatly displeases me, and you have yet to see me truly displeased. On the matter of Christine, if you refuse my orders, I can guarantee she will not return to you_._  
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_Your Obedient Servant,_

_O.G._

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Richard's head hung reluctantly. "When is the salary due?" he asked sadly.

"In two weeks," sighed Moncharmin. A groan came as Richard's answer. He placed his forehead in his palm; it had only been one note and he was already exhausted of the Phantom's antics.

"How can we possibly come up with twenty-thousand francs in two weeks? Without even a lead soprano?" Richard roared. The two paced in opposite directions. Many silent moments passed as they thought of what they could possibly do. A simple, albeit mediocre, opera, staring a chorus girl could probably raise enough to at least comfort the Phantom for the moment. Unless, of course, the audience came to realize how low the standards of the opera truly were, in which case they would surely demand their money back.

"Maybe," began Moncharmin hesitantly, "we could demand he return our Prima Donna… just for one night." They could only assume the Ghost had her; there had been many rumors.

"Demand something… of _OG_? Are you hearing yourself, old friend?" Richard asked, holding back nervous laughter.

"Well, I'm sure if we present only the most logical arguments," argued the other manager, "I mean, really, Monsier, the Ghost can't possibly be all that unreasonable. He obviously knows how the Opera is run, he'll know we need a lead."

"We can suggest it," Richard allowed, "but I refuse to _demand_ it of him."

"Very well, we will _suggest_ to the Phantom that he permit us to _borrow_ Mlle. Daaé, for _a few _performances, just until we can replace her, and raise enough to pay him." A simple nod served as Richard's reply, and they began writing a well-worded note, filled with praise, to the Phantom of the Opera.

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When Mme. Giry delivered their exuberant note, Erik was surprised that he didn't find an agreement inside. Surely, they did not wish to meet him, face-to-face. A wry smile twitched across his face, but his current company caught him before he did anything ridiculous.

"Now, Erik," warned the elder woman, "the managers swear to me that they'll return Christine to you, that they'll follow whatever orders you press upon them concerning her. They swear they'll keep only the most protective security around her."

"_I_ am the most protective security for her!" snarled the Phantom.

"Very well, the second most protective security for her. They attest to the fact that she will remain in her dressing room, which I know you can safely watch her from, during all the downtime between rehearsals and performances," Mme. Giry insisted. "No harm will come to… your wife." She had trouble saying the words, surprised that Christine had so willingly agreed to that. Christine had always seemed a little shallow to Mme. Giry. She took a slow pause, then offered her advice on the subject, "I would allow it. They won't be able to pay you otherwise. Have you a note with which you can send me back?"

"Just a moment," he growled, flying to his writing desk. He wrote with an even more crooked hand than usual. Then, a thought occurred to him… perhaps talking this over with Christine would be wise. With a defeated sigh, he called to her. She answered in a timely manner, arriving in his room shortly thereafter.

"Yes, my Angel?"

"The Managers have decided that without a leading Soprano, they cannot pay my salary," he began slowly, his teeth slightly clenched; he did not like his orders being responded to with bargaining. "They suggest that _you_ are the only Soprano that can properly lead the Opera. They claim they wish to '_borrow_' you for '_a few_' performances. I do not like the idea, but it is up to you."

Christine's lips parted slightly in shock. "What of Carlotta?" she asked, surprised that she had not be considered first.

"It would appear she has fled," he had to grin as he considered the reason, "as she is afraid of the Opera Ghost's imminent attack."

"I suppose nothing can be done about it, then," she answered, remembering her times soloing on stage. "I shall have to sing. When does rehearsal start?"

Erik's eyes narrowed, and he turned back to his note, scratching red ink all over his refusal. He pulled out a new piece of paper and began writing his acceptance of the terms. "You are to be in your old dressing room tomorrow morning at ten o' clock." Christine nodded and went back to her room. She sang a few quiet scales and decided she would have another lesson tonight before bed.

Once more, Erik returned to Mme. Giry and said, "Christine will return to the 5th cellar every evening after rehearsal, by my own escort. I will escort her from the dressing room. She is to be in the room no later than nine o' clock. If my demands for this are ignored, Hell will rain down upon the Opera!" He then handed her the note then stalked off, grumbling to himself.

He stalked all the way to his organ and played a few angry chords, then Christine was suddenly sitting beside him.

"If I'm going to be singing the lead again," she began somewhat hesitantly, "I'll be needing more voice lessons." Erik nodded in response, though he didn't show the same joy he usually did when he had a chance to teach her.

The lesson, which usually ended in a duet that would remind Christine why she called Erik "Angel," ended with a simple "You need sleep," and a nearly inaudible "good-night" from her husband. But she didn't accept it to be over just then. Something was the matter.

"Erik," she began a little quietly, "is there something bothering you?" She gently set her hand on his shoulder, which normally eased him a little, but once again her touch didn't seem to affect him.

"I promised you that we could return to the surface," he admitted slowly and sadly, "told you that I had invented a mask that could make me look like any normal person, told you that we could live together in a nice flat, but…" he sighed, pausing for a moment, "I'm too afraid to return to the surface, even with that mask. I'm afraid of… mingling with other people again. My years down here-in case you haven't noticed-have kept me from becoming a socially acceptable person." Christine answered by simply wrapping her arms around his shoulders and sort of hugging him. _This_ caught his attention, she had not been this affectionate since she had kissed his cheek. He fought the idea that he was perhaps growing on her, telling himself that was not possible. He wrapped a shaking arm around her, his hesitance apparent as he did, and pulled her slightly closer. This action was incredibly stiff and awkward.

"Do not worry about moving me to the surface," she requested sweetly. "I love living in your cellar. There is little about the surface that I really miss." He smiled and sighed a contented little sigh.

"If you insist," he agreed, then noticed a yawn that Christine tried (and failed) to contain. "You're obviously tired, dear. Do not lose sleep on Erik's account. You have a long day before you."

She nodded in defeat, heading off to bed. But the sleep that normally came quickly after an exhausting lesson and duet seemed to take forever to grace her. She simply wasn't sure if she was causing Erik too much worry. Was he really so concerned that she didn't enjoy sharing his home with him? Did she come across that way? It's true that she had thought of it at first almost as a prison, but she had grown accustomed to life in his darkness. It had actually helped her to better understand her Angel, and she was starting to care for him quite a bit. Her buzzing mind eventually found a comfortable sleep, and dreams of duets with the Angel filled it.

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She received the script for the upcoming opera the next day, and rehearsals began. Mme. Giry was sure to inform Christine that she was to be back in the dressing room no later than 9 o' clock sharp. And as soon as rehearsals were over and Christine had properly informed the old ballet chorus that she was fine, she began making her way to her dressing room. However, a gentle hand caught her arm. She turned round and discovered the Comte de Chagny looking at her with concerned eyes.

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**A/N: AHA! The first chapter to NOT end in a note!**

**Yes, unfortunately, Raoul is very persistent. Will Christine go with her ex-fiance? Or will she remain faithful to her husband? Will Erik really wreak havoc upon the Opera House if Christine is not back on time? Will Raoul be at fault because he is keeping Christine? Why am I asking you all these questions? Find out during the next chapter! (Review, s'il vous plait.)  
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	6. The Kiss

**A/N: I'm warning you now; the story title may show up once or twice in this chapter. Don't say I didn't warn you. This story is getting longer and longer than I expected. I sort of figured this or the previous chapter would be the end, but I'm having too much fun writing it, so I edited the way things played out, and now it's looking to be much longer. Yay!**

**P.S. I'm working on a second PhanPhiction, now, so the updates for this might come slower. I don't know if I'll post this second one. If you like my Leroux-Erik, I don't know if you'd want to read the second. It takes a totally different road with Erik, so... yeah...  
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**Disclaimer: As this is nothing but a fanfiction, it is clear that I own none of the characters, but since it is a fanfiction, I do own the plot. If you wish to praise the true owner of the well-written characters, M. Gaston Leroux is the man whom you should praise.**

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"Raoul!" Christine exclaimed in a whispered tone. "Wh… What are you doing here?"

"Your last letter worried me," he answered. "I thought perhaps the Phantom had forced you to write such a thing. I would have written back, but I overheard that you would be singing in the upcoming Opera, so I rushed down here the moment I learned the time that rehearsal was beginning. Come with me, I-"

"No, no, Raoul, please, stop," she responded, shaking her head. "Erik didn't force me to write anything. I'm starting to accept my affections for the man. I'm really starting to care about him. I'm not going with you. Don't come back here again. Leave me be."

"But… But, Christine!" he interjected. "Surely, you cannot expect me to accept my fiancee marrying another, and living with him, and all this other nonsense!"

"Oh, Raoul, did I not tell you?" she sighed. "I am no longer your fiancee. Things have changed. Can't you understand this? My feelings for you are waning; my feelings for Erik are only growing. Please, leave me and my husband alone."

"Your husband?" Raoul asked, incredulous. "You mean, you actually accept that… _thing_ as the man you'll spend your entire life with?"

"Don't call Erik a 'thing'!" Christine yelled, hitting Raoul in the chest. "He's more of a man than you'll ever be!"

"Christine, please, relax," he said. "The Phantom will stop haunting you, your thoughts, your dreams, soon. I swear. We shall disappear and you'll never have to return to this place again." The man had slowly been inching himself closer to her, and his arms threatened to embrace her.

With a disbelieving stare, she pushed him away, saying, "I'm sorry, Raoul, I'm sorry you don't believe me. But he no longer haunts me like he once did. Please, now, go. I'm a lost cause. There's nothing you can do. Good-by." She tried to turn and run, but Raoul wouldn't allow it. He grabbed her by her upper arms and forced her into a kiss. Yet, her lips did not return the display of affection. Once more, she pushed him away, then ran to her dressing room.

The mirror was already open when she got there, and Erik was waiting, impatiently, in a chair. "Oh, Erik!" Christine exclaimed in tears, "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to be late! R-" she cut off, realizing that she would simply anger him.

He hadn't heard the sadness in her voice. "Erik thought his directions were clear, simple. No later than nine o' clock sharp. Nine o' clock is not so late, is it? And yet, here Christine is, at the very least fifteen minutes late. Erik even allowed some time for Christine to socialize with her old friends, but his instructions were ignored," he murmured, his voice so calm that it was almost creepy.

Christine's tears only flowed harder. "Oh, Erik, I know, and I _am_ sorry! It was M. le Comte! He stopped me in the hall, Erik, and, oh, it was terrible! He insists that I go with him! And then he-he-!" Erik stood, then, looking at Christine. He glided silently to her side, and seemed to reach out to hold her, but his hands remained at least two inches away from her. He dare not touch her.

"What, my dear? What did the Comte do to you?" he asked, nervous.

"Oh, Erik," she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his torso. She began crying against his chest. It didn't even seem to affect her that his body was colder than that of normal men. It was evident that she was having trouble admitting it, as for awhile nothing could be heard other than her crying. "Raoul kissed me!" she suddenly choked out. Erik couldn't believe she was crying over a kiss from her old flame. _'Perhaps,'_ he thought, as he cautiously and slowly wrapped his around her shoulders, _'I have nothing to worry about after all.'_ A few weeks was all it took for her to get over the boy? Erik tried to comfort her, but was afraid of coming across as too forward. He couldn't help but think it was awkward the way his cold, skeletal hands gently patted her back in an attempt to help her feel better. He gave up on the awkward moment after a while, so he began leading her through the many halls that led down to his home.

In Christine's mind, she knew why she was really crying; Raoul had kissed her, and she knew she couldn't kiss him back. No, she didn't feel as much for him as she once had, but that didn't mean that she didn't feel anything for him at all. It had taken everything she had to keep her from returning that simple, meaningful kiss.

It had been helpful for her not to see or hear from him for a little while. It helped her accept that she wouldn't be with him again, helped her get over him. She had begun to realize that there was nothing the two of them could do to free her from her marriage, and she needed Raoul to see this. The more time she spent with Erik, the more she could accept the idea of staying his wife. Her thought process was working at an extremely high speed as Erik gently led her back down to his home. By the time they got there, she was crying because she felt horrible for even thinking about betraying Erik like that.

After safely getting her across the lake, Erik sat her on the couch and ran to get her a glass of water. With all that crying, she would need something to keep her hydrated. He sat down about a foot and a half away from her and, from this respectful distance, handed her the glass. Thankfully, she took it from him and hiccuped as she drank it. Erik could not possibly believe that the sole reason behind Christine's tears was the Comte's kiss.

"Christine, my dear, did the Comte de Chagny perhaps do something worse to you?" he asked, confused.

"Oh, Erik, no! I just feel terrible!" she exclaimed, setting the glass down and once again throwing her arms around the Phantom. She cried into his chest again, as he once more uncomfortably wrapped his arms around her shoulders. The way her momentum had hit him, he had been thrown back a bit and he was embarrassed to find her nearly on top of him. "Oh, I just feel so horrid! I'm so sorry, you must understand that," she blubbered and sniffled, "I am so terribly sorry!"

"There. There," he said, stiffly, as he hadn't had much practice dealing with anyone crying, much less a girl, "I forgive you for being late. It was not your fault, after all."

"No!" she cried again. "That's not what I'm apologizing for. I'm apologizing because when Raoul kissed him-oh, Erik, I'm _so sorry_-I wanted to kiss him back. I didn't though, I swear it! I didn't! I couldn't betray you like that! But I am so terribly sorry for thinking it!" Erik's anger clutched him, but not as hard as he clutched Christine. His cheating wife had wanted to kiss another man, after she had sworn her entire life to him. Frustration joined his anger as he realized why Christine would want to kiss another man; he was, after all, a deformed man, a living corpse. It's not as if she would ever want to kiss _him_. But all the same! Her affections, aimed for that boy, instead of her husband as it should have been!

It was Christine's soft wince that brought Erik to realize that he was, unfortunately, again digging his skeletal fingertips into her porcelain skin. Only one thing brought the Opera Ghost comfort as he released Christine's shoulder from his death grip. He took solace in knowing that the girl was there, with him, in his arms, and that she hadn't kissed the Comte, even if she had wanted to. Perhaps his curfew wasn't strict enough. Rehearsals ended at half past eight. He had given her time to socialize today, and look at where it had gotten her! No, she would have to be back in her dressing room no later than twenty minutes until nine from then on. And if she was late, if she was found in the company of the Comte again, she would be removed from the Opera. No bargaining, no arguing allowed.

Erik returned from his thoughts again, this time to a nearly silent room. His wife was asleep. Only the sound of her even breathing broke through the noiseless night. The soprano's crying must have worn her out. It _had_ been an exhausting day for her. He tried to gently lift her off of him so he could take her to her bed, but found he couldn't do so without waking her. He refused to become more affectionate than he had been while she was awake, but he allowed himself to leave one arm around her shoulders. If she had not initiated this inappropriate position, he would have ended it before she had fallen into her premature slumber. As he looked down at her, his brows twisted into a scowl. He couldn't find a reason she was so comfortable laying against his cold chest. Wasn't warmth what humans usually craved when tired? Yet, this was not the first time Christine had felt comfortable enough to sleep against him. As his mind processed reasons for this, Erik slowly found sleep.

Christine awoke the next morning, momentarily forgetting why she wasn't in her bed. Her arms were draped loosely around her husband. His arm was wrapped comfortingly around her. Christine then realized where she was and remembered why. She looked up at Erik, and carefully removed her arm from under him. Gently, lovingly, she stroked his mask. It always made her wonder; why would he still wear it? Had she not already seen beneath it? Did she not still care? Her fingers strayed curiously toward the edge, but the Phantom caught her by the wrist. Her blue eyes widened as she looked into his yellow ones.

"Don't touch it," he pleaded in a dark tone. Christine nodded, removing her hand from his face and sitting up. Her face was a deep pink from falling asleep on him. His lack of speech as he stood and went to the kitchen worried Christine. She should have known that going anywhere near his mask could only anger him.

"Erik," she began slowly and cautiously, "I'm sorry... I know h-"

"You're forgiven," he said detachedly. He certainly did not sound sincere. "You did not kiss the boy, after all. You have little to apologize for."

"That's not why I'm apologizing," she said calmly. "I'm apologizing for touching your mask. I know how you hate that. I _am_ sorry."

It seemed he hadn't heard her, because instead of saying anything about forgiveness, he instead gave her some instructions. "You are to be back in your dressing room tonight at 8:40. You should have just enough time to get from rehearsal to your dressing room. I'll inform the manage-"

"I understand," she sighed, sitting at the table.

He paused, then continued, "The managers of my changes. If M. le Comte is found in your presence again, I will pull you from the performance. Literally if I must." His voice displayed no direct emotion. It bothered Christine; it was normally so easy for her to understand what he was thinking. Silent minutes passed, and Christine felt incredibly uncomfortable. After half of an hour, Erik finished cooking her breakfast.

Without a word, he set her plate down on the table in front of her and walked past her. There was an envelope on the edge of the lake. The Comte's seal held it shut, but instead of being addressed to Christine, like he had expected, it was addressed to "M. le Fantôme."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry, I reverted back to the notes. There were two ways I could've ended this, and, trust me, this was the most natural. I'm really afraid Erik became a little ALW-esque in this one. It is not easy for me to keep him Leroux-based as so many of my readers like. I do hope you're enjoying these. They're quite a bit of fun to write. They're also getting longer and longer the more I write them. Like, literally, each one has about 20 more words than the previous. Please, review! I really like to know what you think! Thank you for reading! *bows out***


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